


Awesome Mix vol. 3

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Guilt, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT5, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Doubt, Self-Loathing, Spoilers for Vol 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Also known as 'Awesome Mix, Zune Edition.'300 songs is alotof music.





	1. some nights - fun. (2012)

**Author's Note:**

> shortly after seeing gotg2 for the second time, this idea struck me--what songs are on that zune? so i've spent the past couple days compiling a playlist of 299 songs that i think might've ended up on that wayward zune. and then, i said to myself, "why not try writing a drabble for every song?"
> 
> so that's what this is; i know there's another fic w/ the same title, but i feel that was inevitable. no infringement intended!! i tried to think of a different title, but nothing felt quite so fitting. as for the songs themselves, i did my best to keep them at 2012 and earlier, since that seems to fit best with the canon timeline of things. 
> 
> there's no set schedule for this to be udpated, it'll just happen as the ideas strike me. but i'm gonna make it to 300, just you wait.
> 
> anywho, enough of my yammering. enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _some nights i stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights i call it a draw_

Some nights, when his room is dark and he’s alone, Rocket curls up in the tightest ball he can manage. He draws all four paws close to his chest and wraps his tail around himself like it’ll keep his misery contained. It doesn’t, not even close, but it’s a small comfort all the same.

On these nights, he closes his eyes and lets the images taunt him. It’s not the same as it used to be; he’s haunted less and less by the horrors of his creation. Little by little the crackle of electricity and the snapping of his faulty-wiring fade from his ears. The stark contrast of blood on metal dim, replaced by something Rocket feels is infinitely worse.

His own pain, he can handle. _Has_ been handling it for years, on his own and with the occasional helping branch from Groot. His own pain is easier to stomach because it doesn’t hurt anyone else but _him_. No one but him has spasms, sparked by a fraying wire. No one but him mourns the pieces of memory that drift in and out, some trickling away entirely. No one but him suffers his own pain, and that’s just fine.

But this—what haunts him now is so much worse.

He hears the Nova officers’ voice in his head; their screams echo around his skull, and they hurt. They sting, a million sharp teeth digging into his brain. He hears his voice, too, shouting out cheekily: _hold on, gov’na—!_ It makes Rocket sick to his stomach to think the last words Saal heard were Rocket’s. Meaningless, meant-to-be-funny words.

Rocket shudders and tries to curl up tighter, on these nights. He simultaneously wants to keep the memories at bay to spare himself the pain, and wants to accept the guilt as penance and let it wash over him. It’s a tug-of-war that Rocket wrestles with on these nights, most nights, damn near every night.

His heart is heavier than it’s ever been; he’s weighed down with the blood on his hands, and it only gets worse with the more missions they go on. The more jobs they rack up, the more collateral damage they accrue. And while everyone else seems to wade through what they leave in their wake, Rocket just… can’t.

 

 

“Rocket?”

The room is still dark save for a sliver of light bleeding in from the hall, save for where Peter has the bedroom door cracked open just wide enough. Rocket doesn’t stir. Doesn’t even twitch his tail in acknowledgement, not that it stops Peter. Nothing stops Peter, it seems.

“Rocket,” Peter says again, softly. He steps inside and lets the door slide shut with a heavy clunk after him. His boot-clad feet hit the floor quietly and in a few short steps he’s beside Rocket’s bed. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

Rocket growls.

“Can’t scare me off.” Peter sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been in here a while. Groot was gettin’ worried.”

Rocket’s growl tapers off into a soft whine.

“Don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Peter adds as he slides onto the bed. He leans against the wall and his feet dangle over the edge of the bed. “But I’m here, if you do.”

Rocket doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to put the storm of his thoughts into coherent words. Wouldn’t know how to string these pieces into sentences if his life depended on it. He unfurls slowly. First he lets his tail relax and fall away from hiding his body. Then he stretches his stiff legs and starts to crawl.

Peter’s face reads like an open book: utter surprise and shock, as Rocket clambers into his lap. But he doesn’t push him away and doesn’t tell him off. Peter doesn’t say a thing until Rocket is curled up in his lap. He’s still mostly hiding, but he’s not so tightly wound. Tentatively, Peter rests a hand on Rocket’s back.

“This works, too.”

Rocket sighs. He forces himself to relax under Peter’s touch, rather than to snarl or bite or flee.

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter says it just as Rocket is starting to sort through his thoughts with the intent of speaking. “We can just chill.”

Rocket closes his mouth and even though his teeth clack together, Peter doesn’t comment. He just keeps stroking in a long, even rhythm until Rocket actually manages to fall asleep. It’s dreamless and murky, but it’s a better rest than Rocket has had since they crash-landed on Xandar.

 

 

_Well some nights I wish that this all would end, ‘cuz I could use some friends for a change._

When he wakes up briefly, Peter is still there. His headphones hang around his neck and the music bleeds from them into the room, not too loud but not exactly quiet either. Rocket listens to the lyrics and lets them—coupled with Peter’s warm hand still on his back—lets them lull him back to sleep.

_And some nights I’m scared you’ll forget me again._

_Some nights I win, I always win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQkBeOisNM0)]


	2. papa was a rolling stone - the temptations (1972)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _talked about saving souls and all the time leechin'; dealing in debt and stealing in the name of the lord_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully going to post a couple more chapters today!! also, for future reference, these chapters are not necessarily going to be in chronological order. sometimes they might seem out of whack; i'll try to make it clear when certain chapters tie together.
> 
> thanks to everyone who enjoyed ch1, i hope you all continue to like this!!

It haunts him, a little bit.

Ego’s words.

That without the light—without _Ego_ —Peter would be a mere mortal. His thoughts on the matter haven’t changed. _What’s so wrong with that?_

But he does wonder. Wonders if Ego was telling the truth; wonders if Ego could even know, given that he’s the only celestial in who knows how long.

Peter wonders if Ego was right.

He’s too scared to try and find out, most of the time. He gets the phantom feeling of energy surging through his veins, ready to culminate in his palms as pure light. When these feelings strike, he busies himself with working out or tinkering with the ship to burn off the excess adrenaline. Sometimes he feels it in his chest, as though his heart is going double-time or not at all; Peter can’t always tell the difference.

In the end, he comes up with what seems like the safest way to test his theory.

 

(It’s not.)

 

 

 

“What were you thinking?!” Gamora shouts as they stumble back onto the Milano. Once they’re all inside, as Rocket quietly makes his way up to pilot the ship, Gamora rounds on Peter. “What were you _thinking_?” She gets all up in his face, a single accusatory finger jammed against his collarbone.

“I—it was nothing.” Peter raises his hands in surrender and tries for a sheepish grin. “It was an accident.” It wasn’t really, though. Throwing himself on that bomb (one that turned out to be a dud, anyhow) was the furthest thing from an accident.

She narrows her eyes. Peter can clearly see the war in her gaze: the battle between if she believes he’s really that stupid, or not. The former seems to win. “Don’t do it again.” She jabs him once more, enough to hurt. Then, her look softens.

“Sorry,” he tells her genuinely. He brings a hand up and takes her by the wrist gently.

Gamora’s gaze drops to his touch. After a beat of silence, she nods. “Good.” She tugs out of his grip, looks him up and down once, then walks away.

 

 

 

“What the hell?” Rocket snarls. His claws graze Peter’s skin but don’t manage to catch Peter before he steps away.

Peter ignores him. He spreads his arms wide and shoots the planet’s leader a cheeky grin. “Pardon me,” he says in a tone dripping with condescension. “I didn’t mean to offend.” Which is clearly a lie. The planet’s leader—a shapeless, smoking and muddy mass—is practically snarling. Or whatever its species does when they’re angry. The leader keeps growing and shrinking at an alarming rate, and the smoke is filtering off it at an alarming rate.

“Quill, cut it out!” Rocket stage-whispers, though he doesn’t step forward to make another grab for his teammate. “You’re gonna get us all killed.” This species are reminiscent of the Sovereign in personality: easily slighted, quick to be offended, and Peter is just about to take the whole damn cake.

Peter finally does stop, though. Rocket’s words sink in, and Peter hates how right he is. He’s not only risking his own life here; Rocket is just behind him and the other three guardians aren’t far away either.

Peter takes a step back and relaxes his posture. He aims his stare downward, submissive, and waits for the leader to calm down. “My apologies,” Peter says quietly after it seems safe to speak again. “We’ll be leaving, now.” He turns on one heel and stalks out of the overgrown great hall, Rocket close beside him.

“Quill, what the hell?” Rocket asks again.

“It’s nothing,” he says, just as he told Gamora a few days prior.

Rocket eyes him suspiciously. “Bullshit.”

Peter isn’t surprised. “It’s nothing,” he says again. “Leave it.” He uses his longer legs to his advantage to get a head start on Rocket, putting several paces between them. Rocket doesn’t bother trying to catch up, but Peter knows this conversation is far from over.

 

 

 

It’s not the first time he’s come to with Drax cradling his head, looming over him, and muttering worriedly. It certainly won’t be the last, either. Peter no longer tries to shove at Drax’s roaming hands—he knows now that his companion is just checking for worse injuries, cataloguing the ones he can see. He doesn’t try to squirm away—because Drax will just drag him closer (gently, sure, but drag all the same). Peter just waits, now.

And waits.

And waits.

“Uh, Drax? You’ve been at it for a while.”

Drax finally pauses and he looks at Peter with heavy eyes. “You have not been injured like this before, Quill.” One hand against scopes the back of Peter’s head, fingers dancing delicately across the smattering of lumps there. Peter doesn’t remember getting knocked around the head so many times, but the pain tells him it definitely happened. “I must be absolutely certain.”

Peter sits up and is slightly amazed when Drax lets him. “I’m fine.” He holds out his hands and grins. “See? Fine.” Bracing one hand on Drax’s shoulder, Peter heaves himself up to a standing position and promptly passes out.

 

 

When he comes to (again) he’s surrounded by all his other guardians, and they’ve all got him pinned with half-disappointed, half-concerned glares.

“Guys.” Peter sits up slowly. Again, he’s surprised that they let him even try to move. Eventually he props himself up against the wall behind his bed, though he’s breathing heavy by the time he manages. “Guys, listen—!”

“No, _you_ listen, Quill.” Rocket snarls as he climbs onto the bed. He stands on the edge and points a shaking claw in Peter’s direction. “You’ve always been a reckless douchebag, but this is getting out of hand.”

“I am Groot.” Pitchy and worried, Groot chimes in from where he sits on Gamora’s shoulder.

“Yeah!” Rocket exclaims, clearly in agreement.

Gamora continues. “Peter, despite what Rocket said, this isn’t like you.” Her arms are crossed tight over her chest. Just behind her, Drax is clearly continuing to fret.

Peter blinks. “Where’s Kraglin, or Mantis?” He isn't deliberately steering the conversation away from himself, he's really genuinely curious, but he knows it seems like a cop-out.

Gamora’s lips turn down in a scowl. “She tried to take away some of your pain, and was overwhelmed.” Gamora grits her teeth for a moment. “Kraglin took her out to take her mind off it.”

Peter swallows uneasily. “I can explain.”

“Then get to it,” Gamora demands before sitting on the edge of the bed. She reaches out and lays a careful hand on his leg over the covers, and squeezes. “Please, Peter.”

 

 

It takes a while, and partway through Drax leaves. When he comes back, music is trilling softly from his hands—the zune, the headphones. The music helps as much as it hurts. It makes him think of Yondu and Ego and everything that’s lead him to this moment.

_Never heard nothin’ but bad things about him._

_Mama, I’m depending on you to tell me the truth._

 

“So, you’re worried that Ego was lying?”

Peter nods. He feels drained, and can’t do anything except stare at his hands.

“Why would it matter if he was truthful or not?” Drax wonders. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed too, has been for a while, though he doesn’t reach for Peter like Gamora did.

Peter sighs. “It matters because—because what if I’m like him?” He finally tilts his head back and lets it thunk against the wall. “What if I have that same power, and, and what if…”

“What if _what_?” Rocket snipes. “What if you end up a psycho power-hungry maniac like your old man?”

Gamora glares at him, but it doesn’t quell Rocket in the least.

 “So what?” Rocket moves closer. He walks across the bed and stands beside Peter’s hip. “You ain’t _him_ , Quill. Never have been and never gonna be. Regardless of if you got the light or the spark or whatever shit it is. Immortal or not, doesn’t make a difference.”

“I am Groot,” chimes in again, just as soft as before. He’s propped up on Peter’s knee this time, and staring up at him with big wide eyes.

“Like he said,” Rocket agrees, “you’re still you. Regardless.” He finally looks away, arms across. “So stop doing such dumb shit, wouldya? You’re gonna give one of us a heart attack.”

 

_Mama looked up with a tear in her eye and said, “son…”_

Peter swallows his protests. He wants to argue, not because he disagrees but because it’s easier than accepting the possibility that there’s still some part of him tethered to his father. He startles when Rocket sits on the bed and takes one of his hands; he looks up when Gamora takes the other, and when Drax lays a hand on his shoulder.

“You are still you, Peter.” Gamora echoes Rocket softly.

Peter grips their hands tight and nods. “Yeah, okay.” He can feel it again, the unsettling sensation of the light itching to escape his skin. He doesn’t ignore it, this time. Doesn’t indulge it, either. But he lets it be. And if his friends notice a change—his body warmer, veins shining, _anything_ —they’re kind enough not to mention it while Peter tries to drift back to sleep.

 

_Wherever he laid his hat was his home, n’when he died, all he left us was alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jzly6jrepRU)]


	3. stand by me - ben e. king (1962)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _if the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall, or the mountain should crumble to the sea_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a third rewatch of gotg2 i realized rocket and nebula could have some things to bond over. this one is short, hope you like it!

“Sucks, don’t it?”

She looks over at the raccoon. “What?” It’s not quite a snarl. She’s been trying harder to level her tones, be _kinder_.

The animal scoffs. “The mechanics. Hurt like a bitch, huh?” Then, he tugs down the collar of his suit to show off the struts across his collarbones. “More where that came from.” He gestures vaguely to his back, even his skull. “All sorts’a metal clogging up this body.”

He looks her up and down. “I figure we’re in pretty similar boats.”

As if on cue, a spark in Nebula’s arm shocks and stings; she flinches, only to be met with a sad smile.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Same boat.”

The silence stretches. The only sounds interrupting them are the groan of the ship and Quill’s voice down the hall, singing along with another tune.

_"When the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we’ll see—"_

“How do you manage?” She asks softly. Not because she needs the advice, but because she wants to hear. Wants to know how it compares to her own methods. Wants to know because something tells her this creature doesn’t have anyone else to understand or listen.

“Drinking, mostly.” He sits back and props himself up on his paws. “Lotta drinking.”

Nebula wrinkles her nose. “That is not healthy.”

“Why bother bein’ healthy?” He shrugs. “I dunno, it’s just easier.” He tilts his head to look at her, even though she still won’t meet his eyes. “What ‘bout you?”

“I fight.” She clenches her fists. “I fight, and destroy.”

“Yeah, that’s a good one, too.”

_"I won’t cry, I won’t cry, no I won’t shed a tear—"_

Nebula finally looks over at him, unsurprised that his gaze hasn’t wavered yet. “Did you come here just to commiserate?”

“Mostly.” He shrugs again. “Thought you might want to talk ‘bout it, with someone else.”

Nebula finally relaxes her fists. She presses her palms against her thighs and sighs. “It is not the worst thing.”

The raccoon laughs. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Nebula doesn’t smile, but they settle into an easy silence all the same. Again, save for Quill, still singing along.

_"Stand by me, when all of our friends is gone."  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwZNL7QVJjE)]


	4. you better you bet - the who (1981)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i don't really mind how much you love me, a little is really alright_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for desolationoffeels on tumblr, who prompted the following: oh oh! for GOTG OT5 can we have Peter try to get everyone together to go on a proper date because lbr none of them have been on one. Could go according to plan or because it's them some evil baddie or something ends up interrupting it.
> 
> it's short, but this was so much fun to write!!! finally got to add some fun and fluff to this to go along with all the h/c
> 
> hope you like it!

“A date?” is the puzzled chorus of his teammates when he proposes the idea, initially.

Peter holds back a sigh. “Yes, a date. It’s what people do. People—like, us.”

“Guardians?” Drax is genuinely curious.

“Thieves?” Rocket is nearly snickering behind a paw, and Peter is pretty sure he’s fucking with him.

“Idiots?” Gamora smiles around the word, and Peter _knows_ she’s fucking with him.

“I am Groot?”

“Yes, thank you, Groot. _Partners_.”

Silence ensues.

“Romantic partners,” Peter tries again.

“Oh,” Rocket announces loudly. His tone is exaggerated, excessively sarcastic. “You mean a date- _date_.”

Peter groans and tilts his head back and counts down from ten. “Yes, Rocket.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Rocket shrugs. “Fine, but you’re buying.” With that he stands and leaves, motioning for Groot to follow.

“Why is Quill paying? We have a joint account, do we not?”

They do, established not long after the disastrous rendition of meet-the-parents from a few months back. It seems safest to pool the majority of their funds into one pot, so that none of them are ever left high and dry. They still all have their own accounts, too, but they’re less used.

“It’s an expression, Drax.” Peter explains.

Drax ‘ah’s quietly. “I do not get it.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Peter walks over and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Drax grins. “Very well.”

Gamora stands and follows Peter into the kitchen. On the way he stops just long enough to start up the zune. As Gamora speaks, music slowly fills the ship.

“Where will this date happen? There are few places we can go without being mobbed, by fans or enemies.” She follows close at his side and when he steps up to the counter to make a drink, she stays closer still.

 

_I love to hear you say my name, especially when you say yes._

 

“We will be hard pressed to find somewhere under the radar.” She adds.

Peter shoots her a grin. “I know just the place. It’ll be real romantic.” He extends his hands, palms up, as if to gesture to all the possibilities the date will hold.

Gamora smiles at him. She presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure it will not disappoint.”

 

_When I say “I love you,” you say “you better.”_

 

 

 

It doesn’t disappoint.

Not exactly.

 

It just doesn’t go as planned.

At. All.

 

“How does this _always_ happen!?” Peter shouts as he fires off another shot, watching a Kree soldier go down. “I just wanted a nice night with my partners, get a little tipsy, take things back to the Milano—!”

“Peter, focus!” Gamora snaps over the clash of her sword against her opponent’s armor.

“I am focusing! On what was supposed to be a nice—!” He takes out one soldier. “Fucking—!” and another. “Evening!” and one more, with a blast right between the eyes.

“Oh please,” Rocket shouts back from somewhere overhead. “This is a perfect date for us!” His words are trailed by a maniacal laugh that should _not_ warm Peter’s heart so much. “This is _awesome_!”

“I am Groot!” Groot had started blooming roses when they first stepped off the Milano, and he’s _still_ sprouting them, and grinning dopily while he takes down soldiers in waves.

“Am I the only one disappointed by this? Even just a little bit?” Peter ducks a shot from a soldier and falls flat on his ass. No one answers him, but Drax grabs him by the collar and hauls him up.

“Cease your complaining, Quill!” Then, Drax pulls him in for a kiss that’s more laughter than lips. “Let us battle our foes, together!”

Peter can’t help but grin in response. “Fine, fine. But sometime, we’re gonna go on a real date, even if it kills us.” He taps just behind his right ear and lets his mask encase his face. He takes off alongside Drax, making a beeline for another group of Kree soldiers, when Rocket’s voice buzzes in his ear.

“Don’t tempt fate, you moron!” Even as he shouts, Rocket takes out an enemy that had started to creep up at Peter’s side. “How’d I’d end up with a bunch’a d’ast idiots, huh?”

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah, yeah, just cuz I love them doesn’t make them any less stupid.”

Somehow, a flurry of blasts and blood and battle-cries later, they end up all back to back; the smoking bodies of their enemies lay about. Breathing heavy, they all shares suspicious glances and cautious side-eyes.

“Is that it?” Peter asks softly. He taps his mask again, and his eyes adjust to the lighting. “Are we done?”

“We should leave now, rather than sitting around trying to find out.” Gamora nods toward where the Milano is parked. “Perhaps we can still make good on the last part of Peter’s plan.”

“Now _that_ , I like the sound of,” Rocket agrees. He lands on Peter’s shoulder. “Lead the way, _captain_.” He’s mocking, but the way his paw combs through Peter’s hair is deceptively affectionate.

Peter grins, an expression shared by all his teammates. “Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXMWNhCmLUg)]


	5. don't think twice, it's alright - bob dylan (1963)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe; i'm on the dark side of the road_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i'm writing these, i'm realizing that for most people they usually had albums on a zune, rather than just a bunch of individual songs. that wouldn't be nearly as much fun for this fic, so let's pretend the kid who owned this zune was just a weird one who never put full albums on it, okay? 
> 
> anywho, enjoy! back to more hurt/comfort apparently bc that's all i seem to write lately.

Rocket had blamed Peter for Groot’s death at first. He had held the pot, twig stuck in dirt desperately, held it so close to his chest and glared at Peter endlessly. He had dropped angry remarks and snide comments like it was his mother tongue, all the while cradling Groot’s growing self. He had verbally battered Peter every chance he got—and on a rare occasion or two, things had gotten physical, when Rocket was able to bring himself to set Groot down and go after Peter.

The situation hadn’t been resolved until Groot grew out of his pot and was able to walk around on his own. It was as though now that he was tangible, living separately from the rest of them, surviving without constant care—once that happened, Rocket was at peace. Yes, he still fretted over Groot an overwhelming amount, but he didn’t take out his anger on Peter. That didn’t mean things were hunky-dory between them, but things were better.

In a way, it only feels fair that Peter blame Rocket for Yondu’s death. He knows it’s not rational. He knows that the options available to them at that moment were scarce, and he knows Yondu damn near begged Rocket for the option to sacrifice himself. That doesn’t mean Peter can accept it, though. Doesn’t mean he won’t take out his anger and his hurt on the one person who’d let him.

 

 

 

“Peter, that is _enough_.” Gamora’s voice cuts across Peter’s shouting and Rocket’s snarling.

Peter turns to her, and his anger dissipates. He opens his mouth in a move to explain himself, but Gamora shuts him up with a glare. His hands drop to his sides and his shoulders slouch.

“This has gone on long enough.” Her expression softens for a moment. “I know it hurts, Peter.” She spares a glance at Rocket. He’s stopped bearing his teeth and stopped growling, and looks just as sad as Peter feels. “But taking out your anger on Rocket will not bring him back.”

Peter coughs to keep the whimper in his throat from spilling out.

“Anger will get you nowhere,” she tells him. “But if you truly have that much rage then we will find a different outlet for you. One that will not cause more strain on this team.” She looks at Rocket again. “Won’t we?”

Rocket nods. “Yeah, yeah.” Even so, he looks ashamed. His gaze stays focused on the ground and his ears are flat against his head.

Gamora waits for a response and when none comes from either teammate, she sighs. “For now, we should rest.”

Rocket takes off first, claws scraping against the floor as he runs. Peter watches him go. When Gamora reaches for him, he pulls away with an apologetic, weak, _tired_ smile.

 

 

_Well it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe._

 

Peter barely hears the knock over the music. The earbuds are in but the tunes aren’t at full volume, and he just barely catches the echo of a fist on metal. He knows who it is—the weight behind the fist, the nervous shuffling on the other side, angry mumbling—but answers all the same.

“Come in.” He pulls out the earbuds as he sits up. He sets the zune aside, but lets the music continue to play. As Rocket steps into the room, the music soothes the awkward tension. It fills the silence as they each try to think of something to say.

 

_You’re the reason I’m a-traveling on; but don’t think twice, it’s alright._

 

“Wanna sit?” Peter asks quietly. He pats the bed beside him.

Rocket nods. He doesn’t quite scurry, but it’s close. He clambers up onto the bed and sits as close to Peter as he thinks he can get away with.

“I’m—?”

“I—?”

They start and stop at the same time, and finally their grins edge more on friendly than bitter. “You go,” Peter says.

 

_But I wish there was something you would do or say, to try and make me change my mind and stay._

 

“I blame myself too, y’know.” Rocket sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “I should’a packed another suit, should’a made your dumb little helmet stronger. Should’a done _more_.” His paws curl into fists and he takes a moment to inhale and exhale sharply. “Should’a insisted he come with me’n Groot. Can’t help but thinkin’ of all the things I should’ve—could’ve done.”

Rocket doesn’t open his eyes. “I don’t blame you, for blamin’ me,” he adds.

“I know.” Peter relaxes slowly; he mirrors Rocket’s pose, leaned against the bedroom wall with legs stretched out. “Doesn’t make it okay.”

Rocket shrugs.

 

_I’m a-thinking and a-wondering, walking down the road._

 

“S’only fair, I think.”

Peter shakes his head. “Still doesn’t make it right. And you—Groot came back. Yondu isn’t ever coming back. I can’t hold that against you forever.”

Rocket, eyes still closed, tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I guess.”

“We good?” Peter asks when it’s clear Rocket has nothing else to say.

“You good?” Rocket counters, cracking open one eye to stare.

“Not yet. But I will be. And I’m done takin’ it out on you in the meantime.”

Rocket’s paws unfurl and he presses them, palm down, on his legs. “Good, good.” He nods along with his words. “Then yeah, we’re okay. We’re good.”

“Yeah?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?” Rocket barks back with a grin.

Peter returns the expression. “Yeah, you did. Just checking.”

Rocket rolls his eyes, mutters something about ‘obnoxious species’ under his breath, but he leans his weight against Peter.

 

_But don’t think twice, it’s alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZPh3hpxLKs)]


End file.
